


Slow Like Honey

by neogenesis85



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neogenesis85/pseuds/neogenesis85
Summary: It takes time. A lot of it. It's just sad that everyone else around them knows how this is going to end, can predict the play-by-play and make good money off the bets, but the two of them keep dancing around what's inevitable. Or, the five times someone else notices how gone Ginny and Mike are for each other, and the times they finally figure it out themselves.





	1. Evelyn

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's another fandom I didn't plan on getting attached to. Please forgive my baseball knowledge (or lack there of). I haven't really been into the sport since my teen years and I'm a long ways from those years.  
> Also, kinda hot off the press, so let me know about any errors and and tense changes pls.

The team has three away games lined up with the Marlins, and while Evelyn makes a pointed effort to be a supportive wife of a professional ball player (it helps she was a lover of baseball way before she was ever a lover of Blip), she draws the line at anything outside of Texas even when the twins aren’t in school.

Except for New York… because shopping.

South Beach wasn’t all that much different from Southern Cali, in her opinion. And if she wanted an extra dose of superficial jerks with self-inflated egos she’d drive up to LA to remind herself how glad she is Blip hadn’t gotten picked up by the Dodgers.

They’d gone through their usual, personal pre-sendoff routine the night before. But she’s still up bright and early to make sure he’s got his lucky shirt, and what feels like a ton of tupperware containers of leftovers from her mother’s Sunday dinner that will get passed among the guys on their flight out to Florida. It’s fried chicken this time around, which is always a favorite because it’s one of the few things good both hot out the oil or room temp.

But she’s also got a special container just for Ginny, small enough to fit in her purse filled with still warm from the oven oatmeal cookies her mom had baked especially for her this morning and sent over via her disgruntled, ‘I’m-not-gotdam-UberEATS’ little brother. Ginny has a soft spot for weirdly healthy sweets that consist of things like whole grain and all types of exotic nuts and fruits Evelyn has a hard time identifying. And her mother has a soft spot for Ginny, hence the whole ass-crack of dawn trip her brother made.

They’ve only been in each others presence a handful of times, but those were long enough for Ginny to leave some kind of impression. Enough that her mother goes out of her way to cook her that super-secret pound cake recipe that she only plans to share on her deathbed whenever Ginny has a bad game. The pound cake she only makes during the holidays, where people have to take orders. And you can tell how much she cares for you depending on whether you get half a cake, or a fourth. Or, at worst, none at all.

Ginny gets the whole thing because, and to quote, ‘That child can stand to put some meat on her bones.’

She stopped trying to explain the _massive_ amounts of actual protein the girl can consume for breakfast alone. Or how she herself hasn’t gotten a whole pound cake since she pushed out the two terrors she calls her sons, and they’re going on seven now.

Evelyn would be put out if it were anyone else. But Ginny inspires that type of protectiveness without even trying. She was surprised herself when there wasn’t a hint of jealousy back in the day when Blip was still playing AAA and would come home with stars in his eyes over his teammate that could pitch with the best of them, despite being a slip of a thing and not having the right private parts to truly be a part of their all boys club.

There was some concern at first. There was always concern, what with being the girlfriend of an athlete that could go pro any day with the way the scouts would park their butts in seats at his games. Along with the groupies. In the end all it took was one meeting and she could understand why Blip was a bit in awe.

Ginny Baker is magic on the mound. All grit and hellfire with a set jaw and a steely look in her eyes.

Off the field though, away from the crowds and coaches and other players, she’s just a kid with a lot of weight on her shoulders and some justifiable abandonment issues.

It’s not hard to want to tuck her in close and give her the assurances and comfort she obviously needs but has gone too long without because the world sucks and is looking for any hint of weakness so it can chew her up in spit her back out just for bucking against nomenclature.

So Ginny gets a new friend and a home away from home with her and Blip.

And when she finally gets to the majors she gets things like pound cake and homemade granola, because apparently the six children her mother had weren’t enough. She needed one more to love all over.

These are things Evelyn has come to terms with. Because life as a pro-baller’s wife is _weird_.

Blip is saying goodbye to their boys when Ginny’s chauffeured ride pulls up, Amelia sliding out the back in her customary stilettos and phone glued to her hand. The team is flying out of a private airfield on their even more private plane, so she’d not as on guard as she usually is since there aren’t any fans or press about. She takes a look around at the few guys who haven’t boarded yet and the attendants stowing gear and fueling up. Her shrewd gaze lingers just a beat too long on Mike’s back, where he’s talking to Al a few yards away.

Which means there must have been another hookup last night.

Evelyn’s not supposed to know of this… _whatever_ the two of them have going on. But she didn’t get this far in life on her pretty face and great calves alone. She knows how to read people just a well as she knows how to read stats.

Mike and Amelia have been screwing each other six ways from Sunday for some time now. They’ve been good at keeping it hush, hell even Blip hasn’t caught a hint of the fact that those two have gotten to know each other in a Biblical way. And he’s pretty good at that kind of thing.

It helps that Mike has a rep as a Lothario and Amelia wears her no-nonsense, ball buster attitude like a favorite perfume. But every once in a while they slip up, and Evelyn can foresee things getting all kinds of messy if it goes beyond just the sex.

Because the only thing they have in common are crappy exes and one young woman they’ve both attached themselves to.

Blip says Ginny’s going to be Lawson’s legacy. His one last great hoorah before those knees of his bench him permanently. She’s pretty sure he and Amelia both see Ginny as much more than that. And judging by the way Mike can’t seem to keep his eyes off her and Amelia can just barely tamper down the obviously maternal feelings she’s got brewing under her skin, the whole situation could go belly up in the worst way and Evelyn will have to crack some skulls. Because while she likes the two of them well enough, she likes Ginny more, and she doesn’t deserve to get dragged into their rebound issues.

She pulls the tupperware of cookies out of her purse just as Ginny exists the car with a bag slung over one shoulder and headphones hanging around her neck. She doesn’t miss the way Mike bodily shifts, attention still on Al and whatever they were talking about, but tracking Ginny as she makes her way across the tarmac with Amelia and now Eliot dogging her steps. Evelyn can tell he’s trying to wrap it up with Al, his arms suddenly crossed against his chest and his feet shuffling him back a few paces. An impatient tilt to his lips and everything about him closing off.

All she can do is roll her eyes and sigh internally. Mike Lawson is freaking magnetized by Ginny Baker, and both of them are oblivious to it. And god help them all when this whole thing they’ve got going on comes to a head.

“Those for me?” Ginny asks when she’s close enough, hands reaching for the container and popping the lid off.

“Yup. Strawberry this time,” Evelyn wrinkles her nose a bit. She doesn’t get it. Oatmeal anything is the worst and no amount of doctoring them up will change that. “I think.”

Not that it matters. Ginny’s already chewed her way through one of the cookies, cheeks puffed out adorably and her head tilted back all while making an obscene noise. She’s reaching for a second one when Mike appears by her side, snatching it right out of her hand.

Ginny’s whole face goes from gratified to murder.

“We’ve talked about this, Lawson.”

“What?” And he’s the epitome of innocence. “About your Scooby Snacks? I’ve told you time and time again Rookie, sharing is caring.”

He shrugs and starts eating. Ginny’s eyes narrow even more, but that famous dimple is appearing in that one cheek and Mike’s stoic looks is being betrayed by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and above all Evelyn is honestly tired of being the only one privy to their peculiar brand of unresolved foreplay because Blip’s still busy with the boys and Amelia’s taking poor Eliot to task about something…

And here she is. All seeing and all knowing. And kind of sick because these two can be so sickening together without even realizing it. And no one else is picking up what will probably be some epic tale for the ages. At least sports wise.

“Come on Baker,” he says while cuffing his hand around her shoulder and pulling her in a little too close to be considered just friendly. “We can discuss your aggressive eating behavior later. We’ve got playbacks to go over.”

“Tell Mrs. Judy I said thanks,” Ginny calls back absentmindedly as Mike leads her away.

“Yup,” Evelyn replies, even though it’s to deaf ears because they’re off in their own little bubble. Again. Like always. Which is why she’s able to get away with this:

“I’d better be the maid of honor whenever you get your damn heads together.”


	2. Tommy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to have gotten posted Friday, but work and Halloween parades got in the way. Sorry about that.  
> Also, my headcanon for Miller is that he's a Southern boy with a filthy mouth. Which is why there are so many f-bombs in this chapter

“You know the phrase ‘grinding my gears’?” Mike says.

Tommy bites back a groan and wonders for the millionth time how he ended up in the passenger seat of his old ’83 Chevy Comaro while Baker stalled out again and Mike fucking Lawson gave running commentary from the backseat.

“You know the term ‘backseat driver’?” Baker mutters as she turns the engine over.

Tommy doesn’t have to remind her to make sure the car is in neutral like he’s had to about a dozen times over the past few weeks since he got the not so brilliant idea to teach her how to drive a manual. He’s pretty sure it started with way too much beer during a post-win celebration and discovering the fact that the poor girl’s life has been so focused on ball that she never even bothered to get her driver’s license.

Somewhere along the way their relationship has gone from antagonistic to tentative truce to him willingly giving up his free time and car keys so she can drive them both around the empty Petco Park lot and get the feel of something with real steel and muscle.

She does fine enough in his Silverado, apparently having gotten in some road time lessons with both her father and her brother in-between games and training. So she’s not completely hopeless. But when he asks her what she’d want her first ride to be and she confesses that she really likes the sleek lines of the most recent Challenger, he’s knows it’s his duty as a ‘Bama boy to make sure she knows the ends and outs of a stick shift. Because there’s no way in hell she will even appreciate a car of that magnitude with an automatic.

“I’m just saying,” Lawson goes on, “It’s a good thing Miller here signed that million dollar contract and can afford to replace the transmission you’re doing a bang up job at tearing up.”

Baker swallows hard and grits her teeth in obvious annoyance as she gets the car rolling again, shifting into first and then second as they pick up a bit of speed. But then Lawson leans forward from the back to snag another beer from the six-pack resting between the front seats (Tommy figured out quickly the best way to deal with their bickering was to not be sober) and Baker’s attention is shot to shit and third gear is a no-go as she forgets to overcompensate for the rusty clutch.

And yeah, Lawson is right. He probably will need a new trans with the way she’s been _not_ her usual perfect self tonight.

The things is, Baker does just fine when it’s the two of them alone behind the dashboard with the still blazing stadium lights as a backdrop. She has laser focus like nobody he’s ever seen before. But somehow word got around about their little off field training sessions and Mike _fucking_ Lawson does his fucking _usual_ and inserts himself into anything that involves her ever.

And Tommy would be a liar if he said he didn’t feel some type of way about the extra attention Lawson has bestowed on her from the get go. Pitchers and catchers are supposed to have that special kind of bond, but he and Mike have never gone all drift compatible and shit the way he does with Baker.

This thing between them goes way beyond the mound and home plate, beyond her blossoming carrier and Lawson’s dwindling one. It goes beyond the game itself. And if his Grams is right (and she usually is, and it helps she’s the only one back home that hasn’t gotten tired of hearing him whine about not having signed up for this CW romance crap. He just wanted to throws some balls, okay!) these two stubborn fools will be gridlocked like this until one of them gives and puts everyone out of their misery.

And he gets it. There’s a whole lot of everything getting in the way. Between the age gap, and pressure Baker continues to face while breaking down those gender barriers that too many folks (himself included at one point) don’t want to see happen, he understands why they tiptoe around each other and generally ignore how their relationship had flown right past professional ages ago.

He almost feels sorry for them. Except…

Except in the meantime, here he is being the unwilling third wheel for a third night in a row, because Lawson insisted he needed to be there to make sure he was teaching their girl right.

Tommy almost laughed in his face at that. There is no ‘their girl’ when it comes to Ginny and Mike. While it took some time for the team to accept her as one of their own, it didn’t take long for everyone to figure out she will never be anyone’s anything as long as Lawson was around to grunt about it. ‘I don’t date ballplayers,’ she always says. And it takes a whole lot of tongue biting for Tommy not to remind her that Lawson is about a season or two from retirement so what exactly will be her excuse then?

Ginny takes her hand off the gear shift and blindly reaches back for the beer in Lawson’s hand.

“Drinking and driving is illegal, Baker,” Lawson says, but doesn’t stop her from twisting off the top and bringing the bottle to her lips.

“Your entire existence should be illegal,” she says before taking two long pulls from the beer and handing it back. “Here, have some backwash.”

Lawson settles back and takes a healthy swig without a grumble, watching her watch him through the review mirror and Tommy rolls his eyes because they are so _gross_.

She gets the car moving again and Lawson manages to keep his big mouth shut long enough for her to ride the perimeter of the lot twice before Tommy has to beg her off for a bathroom break.

When he gets back Baker and Lawson are leaning against the side of the car polishing off the rest of the beer and talking, doing that thing where they pretend not to be taking secretive glances at each other whenever they think the other isn’t looking.

“So I was thinking, Baker,” he announces himself as he heads their way, and they don’t so much jump apart as they slowly turn their attention his way. As if they’re loathed to have him interrupt.  “We’ve got two days between the Cubs and Braves and seeing as you’re on rest rotation, I figured you can go take that test already. If you can handle your own with the Camero, you should pass with flying colors driving anything else.”

Baker frowns apologetically. “I can’t then. Kinda have a thing.”

“A thing?” He says, and her eyes dart towards Lawson for a fleeting moment. And he could press this. Make them as uncomfortable as he has been the past few days. Because Baker’s tone of voice lets him know whatever she’s talking about is code for ‘Lawson and I have non-game related plans together. And no, you aren’t invited.’

Lawson chuckles a bit. “Finally convinced her the club and half the world would pitch an actual fit if she got pulled off the roster. She’s got an appointment with a very trusted realtor.”

“Jesus,” Tommy scoffs, because while Lawson and he had a few heart to hearts together about his fear of getting sent back down to the farm years ago, before the Padres made him official and all, he certainly never volunteered his time for anything outside of training or barstool therapy. “You guys are house hunting together now?”

“It’s not like that,” Baker protests. “Evelyn’s gonna be there. And probably Amelia.” She pauses and throws a strange look Lawson’s way. “Maybe.”

“Right,” Tommy drawls, nudging his way between them and grabs the last beer. He doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about. “Well that sounds like fun, I guess.”

“Not really,” she sighs. “But I have got to stop living out of that hotel room.”

She settles against his side, and he wonders at what point they became friendly enough to casually start sharing each other’s space. And, because Tommy isn’t above being petty, he slings his arm around her shoulders in a loose hug, hoping to get a rise out of Lawson.

But it doesn’t come. He just gives them both a fond look (lingering longer on her, of course) like he amused and maybe a little proud. Tommy takes a hard swallow from his bottle, because it’s one thing to be witness to their flirty bullshit, but it’s another thing altogether to be a part of their mushy stuff. He’s racking his brain trying to find something to pop the happy little family feels bubble that’s going on when Lawson’s ringtone goes off and does the deed for him. Thank god.

He fishes his phone out the pocket of the leather jacket he’s wearing despite the fact they’re well into the dog days of summer, but doesn’t answer. Just frowns down at the screen.

“Whelp, that’s my cue guys.” Lawson pushes himself off the car and polishes off the rest of his beer. “You good to get her back, Miller?”

“Yup, I got it.”

Baker goes stiff against his side as Lawson gives a distracted goodbye, more focused on his phone as he heads towards his own car. When Tommy glances her way, she rubbing at her lips the way she always does when something is really bothering her but she’s holding herself back from showing it.

And well shit, he doesn’t like that at all.

“What he do?” He’s already (unknowingly) taken out one ex, he’ll be more than happy to do that same to her future whatever the hell Mike is going be for putting that look on her face.

She shakes her head, sets her jaw. “It’s nothing. And least nothing I can prove right now.”

“Well,” he says, giving her a quick squeeze. “I’m picking you in the event of a divorce.”

She doesn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders lessens while her mouth tilts up with a smirk and Tommy figures that’s better than nothing. She’s not going to talk about it, at least not to him. And that’s alright. He has no inclination to become her relationship counselor anyway. But he doesn’t mind making her feel better.

Besides, he has it on good faith that she and Lawson will get over this brewing storm and come out alright in the end.

“Come on, Gremlin,” she says eventually, nudging a boney elbow into his side. “Finish that beer already. It’s way past your bedtime.”

He laughs, playfully shoving her away. “Whatever you say, mom.”


End file.
